Time
by KristaPetal
Summary: It was as if she was ripping layers of paint off a wall, slowly stripping it down to its foundation. But with that image came a nagging doubt that caused her skin to prick with fear. When all the layers were removed what was there underneath? Set in the future with an elderly Chakotay and Seven dealing with their own mortality


_This was inspired by cojack's take on Paramount's wonderful story of Star Trek_

 _cojack challenged me to write a story where an elderly Chakotay and Seven deal with their own mortality. His response to this idea is titled That Goodnight and here's my take._

Time

Her grandson Kolopak had once asked her if time would continue to feel like it was moving faster as a person got older, even when the time came that there was not much in their life that needed doing. He had not meant it as a jab; he had not meant to imply that Seven was now at a time in her life when she did not have much going on, but it had still stirred a sense of unease within her. It was true that her life had changed shape and direction since she had retired and her family had grown up. It had been years since Ixchell had started her own family and no longer looked to Seven and Chakotay to fix everything. It was a bitter sweet sensation to move from a necessity in her daughter's life to what felt at times like an option or an obligation, although Ixchell always assured her that was never the case.

Days had slowly ceased to be filled with a cacophony of tasks that had at one point vied for her attention and yet that had not slowed down the never ending movement of time. If anything, it seemed to increase its velocity. It was as if her life had an exponential acceleration and all she had to do was blink and seconds would blend into years. It felt like moments ago that she had started her relationship with Chakotay and it was difficult to wrap her mind around the notion that it was nearly half a century ago that she had first stepped foot on Voyager.

Her life as a borg drone now felt like a single snapshot of time, a solitary grey moment in her life, which had since felt like a whirlwind of color. She had done so much since she had transitioned to an individual. The first few moments after she was disconnected from the collective felt like an eternity. The echoing emptiness of her individual mind had felt suffocating. Her first days alone had dragged by at a pace slower than the death of a star and there were moment when it was as if time was not moving at all; although it had not stayed that way. As she slowly grew into herself, the days seemed to pass more quickly. Before long it felt like there were not enough hours in the day.

The speed of time seemed to increase but the direction was always the same. She was speeding towards the end of her existence and while she in no great way feared the inevitable end of her life, she could not pretend to be looking forward to it. As time had sped forward, her body had started to fail her. Little by little she had been forced to stop performing everyday activities. When communication from her cortical node to her legs had forced her to stop ballroom dancing with her husband it felt like she was losing an aspect of her personality. Every modification she needed to make to her life, every hobby she was forced to give up, felt like the removal of part of what made her Seven. It was as if she was ripping layers of paint off a wall, slowly stripping it down to its foundation. But with that image came a nagging doubt that caused her skin to prick with fear. When all the layers were removed, what was there underneath? When she was unable to do anything that she had once done and loved, after everything that she had used to define herself was gone, what more was there?

Just as dark thoughts started to sweep through her mind, a small crash to her right made Seven swerve her head towards the sound. A china cup had accelerated 9.8 meters per second squared towards the wooden floor and shattered upon the collision. The cup had slipped out of the hands of her now sleeping husband. His mouth was slightly open as his head tilted back to rest gently against the back of the recliner. With his eyes closed and body relaxed Chakotay truly looked his age. His tan skin was littered with wrinkles and his hair was void of any color. His deep breaths filled the once again silent room and caused his chest to slowly rise and fall.

Seven bent forward in an effort to stand and clean up the mess momentarily forgetting she was bound to the chair that she sat in, unable to stand or walk. For a second, a jolt of sorrow and frustration filled her. She was sharply reminded of her condition when her body refused to respond to her desires. Although just as quickly as these feelings hit her, they were gone and replaced with a molten feeling of warmth and comfort. A rough hand reached across the distance of the two chairs and clasped with hers.

There, underneath all of the activities and hobbies, underneath all of her hopes and dreams, was her family and her love. Through every change she was never alone. Not every moment had been pleasant or happy, but together they had always gotten through the many obstacles that had been thrown at them.

Chakotay bent down and picked up the remains of the cup and smiled wistfully at her. Her heart beat in her chest and an involuntary smile spread slowly across her face. There was no denying that her life felt like it was flying past, but there were also moments where time seemed to stand still.


End file.
